Let the Cleaning Begin

Two Sundays ago, it was time to finally clean the gutters in my part of town. The cleaning was scheduled to begin at 8:00 a.m., but by 7:45, the fire truck had already showed up in front of my apartment building, the highest point in the neighborhood and therefore the logical starting point for the cleaning. Within a few minutes, several people were already helping out.

I don't like to get up early on my days off, so I was slow to make my way downstairs. Besides, as you must know by now, I like to take pictures to document events. So when I opened my third-floor window and saw all of the action going on below, I realized I had a great vantage point from which to snap some pictures.

I tried to do so without drawing any attention to myself, but that didn't work. Nevertheless, I took several pictures over the course of about 10 minutes before I finally headed downstairs to take part in the cleaning.

By the time I got down there, there were so many people helping out that I felt like I was getting in the way. So what did I do? Well, I took more pictures, trying to capture just the right mood on film.

Naturally, some of the volunteers shook their heads at me, as if I were not taking the job at hand seriously. But that didn't bother me. I had a job to do and I was doing it, even if it wasn't the job that most of them wanted to see me do.

The cleaning essentially worked as follows: A couple of people went ahead of the pack and removed some gutter covers. The pack, which must have numbered about 30-40 at one point, then followed, with the leaders moving the fire hose into place and shooting water through the gutters, thereby flushing stones and other debris downhill and eventually into the river. The rest of the crowd followed, holding on to the fire hose and moving it when necessary. Finally, someone would replace the gutter covers. The process was repeated over and over.

The leaders were members of the volunteer fire department. Everyone else was someone from the neighborhood. Besides the leaders, no one was assigned to any particular duty. So I did everything from holding the hose, to removing gutter covers, to replacing gutter covers, to standing around, to taking pictures.

Most of the people were involved with the holding-of-the-hose part of the job. Which means that most of the people could have stayed home.

But in Japan, as far as I know, showing up is at least as important as participating. And I guess looking busy is important, too.

So in between taking pictures, I held on to the hose valiantly, wondering what the point was. And wondering why we couldn't be more practical about the whole affair.

Instead of figuring out an efficient way of moving the heavy hose, such as placing it in an appropriate place and then leaving most of it on the ground until it had to be moved again, for example, just about everyone grabbed the entire stretch of hose and held on to it practically the whole time. And since there were so many people holding a fairly short stretch of hose, you could usually just put one finger underneath the hose and pretend you were "working." Sometimes there wasn't even an opportunity to hold the hose. During those times, you just had to stand around and act important. Or take pictures.

This one elderly lady must have thought she was Queen of the Mighty Hose. She constantly made a great effort to pick up the hose before anyone else. And she kept moving the hose, even when it wasn't necessary. And she always stayed near the front of the pack, ready for action. How about a nice round of applause for the Queen?

One time when the Queen was standing right behind me, I momentarily took my hands (fingers?) off the hose to snap a couple of pictures. Right away, I caught an earful from her. But I ignored her. Besides, I don't understand Japanese, right?

One of the strangest moments of the day came when the firefighters started to clean the river! Sure enough, they climbed down into (what remains of) the river and appeared to be trying to move rocks and other natural debris downstream. I have no idea what that was all about. Any ideas?

Around 11:45, nearly four hours after we had started, we had made our way throughout the whole neighborhood and passed the reins (reigns? rains?) on to the next squad.

The cleaning was a lot easier than I expected. I'm glad I showed up to do my part, especially since that gives me a few more brownie points with the locals. Even the Queen must have forgiven me, since she was talking to me at the after-party. Long live the Queen!

I Went For A Walk. In Sandals. Made of Straw!

Every April, the students and teachers at my school go for a walk in sandals called "waraji." We make the sandals ourselves, with a little help from a group of expert elderly ladies and gentlemen.

The sandals aren't all that difficult to make, as long as you understand the concept of weaving. You need the sandals to last, so you have to make sure you keep tugging at the rows as you weave, keeping them densely packed.

If you work relatively fast and don't have to wait too long for help with the more difficult parts (getting started, adding the toe strap, and putting on the finishing touches), you should be able to finish a pair of waraji in under two hours.

As I started to make my sandals, I talked to another teacher about the upcoming walk. I was under the assumption that we were going to take a bus somewhere, go for a leisurely walk for maybe 15 minutes, go to a museum or whatever, learn something about the history of the sandals, and then eventually walk back to the bus and return to school. Boy was I wrong!

The teacher told me that we were going to be walking "7 kilometers ... one way. And 7 kilometers ... back." What the? Are you kidding me? 14 kilometers? In sandals? Made of straw? Oh my God!

I'm glad that I found out about the length of the journey early enough, since that inspired me to make a rock-solid pair of sandals. If there is such a thing.

Even though I felt that I was doing a good job making my waraji, I was so worried about the possibility of them falling apart during the hike that I kept asking the students and teachers who had already been on one of these walks if they thought my waraji would last. Luckily, everyone I asked gave me the thumbs up.

My supervisor was so impressed with my work that he asked me if I could make a pair for him, as well. Besides, he said he had no time to make his own. Since I had plenty of time, and since my supervisor does me countless favors, I immediately obliged.

One of my buddies joked that I should keep the extra pair as a backup just in case my original pair ended up falling apart after all. He said I should tell my supervisor that I lost the second pair or that someone took it. I definitely gave that idea some thought, but only for an instant.

The last thing I was wondering about concerning the hike was whether or not everyone went barefoot or wore socks. It turns out there was no rule for that; everyone did whatever they felt most comfortable doing.

When I tried out my sandals in my bare feet, I actually liked the feeling so much that I decided to go without socks on the hike, at least to start. But I planned to bring a pair of socks with me, just in case.

The next day, Friday, just before the hike began, I taped up some of my toes, gave my waraji one final inspection, and was good to go.

The outbound hike went better than I expected. I was able to walk fairly fast, the sandals weren't nearly as uncomfortable as I had imagined, the sandals didn't come close to falling apart, and the seven kilometers seemed to fly by. Before I knew it, I had arrived at the campground where we stopped for lunch.

There we divided into groups of about 12 students and 2 or 3 teachers and were all responsible for cooking our own food, which was a strange concoction of pork and vegetables turned into soup.

For whatever reason, my group decided to eat rather close to the smoky "kitchen" area. At first, so as not to insult anyone, I remained with my group. But after only a few minutes, I got up and walked away. I really couldn't stand the smoke. And I simply couldn't understand the idea behind sitting on the hard cement floor when we could have been sitting on soft grass, as just about every other group in our area was doing.

After lunch, we all relaxed for a while, cleaned up after ourselves, and hit the road again.

I thought the return hike would be about as easy as the hike to the campground. But that wasn’t the case.

I guess the main reason for that was that my waraji were wearing out fast. They were noticeably thinner than they were when I started walking in them, so I began to feel just about every step I took. What started as a fairly enjoyable walk was slowly turning into an exercise in pain.

I suppose I could have taken off my waraji and switched to the pair of "normal" sandals that I was carrying in my backpack, as many of the kids had done by that point. But I wanted to stick it out until the end. So I persevered.

Eventually, I made it back to school. And, unlike many pairs, my waraji survived the ordeal in great shape.

Too bad I can't say the same about my legs and feet. I can still feel some muscles in my legs that I never knew existed. And the blisters on my right foot are still bothering me. But I’ll be back to normal in a few days. And I’m another experience richer!

To celebrate the occasion, I’m thinking about making a T-shirt that reads: “I’d rather be walking in waraji.” Of course, that’s far from the truth. But it does have a nice ring to it.

Odds 'n Ends

Two things I noticed at school today:

1) This morning in the main teachers' office, a teacher was practically yelling at a student for whatever reason. I've heard of kids being yelled at by teachers in the teachers' office at other schools here in Japan, but I honestly can't recall the same thing happening at my school. Because the teacher doing the near-yelling was one of the new (to my school) teachers, and because he's a rather young teacher, I felt like telling him, "Hey, man, that's not how things are done around here."

I hope he lays off with the yelling, but I doubt he will. After all, I've witnessed countless instances of a teacher berating a student in or near a classroom, sometimes rather viciously, with many students present. And it's absolutely normal for a student to be counseled at a desk in one corner of the teachers' office, sometimes even with the student's parents/guardians present. (I have seen students and teachers discuss various matters in private, as well, however.)

I have no idea what the kids did wrong, if anything, or what the teacher doing the yelling is saying. So it's not entirely fair of me to criticize the yelling. But I don't like to see kids getting yelled at, and I imagine there must be a more effective way of getting a point across.

I just hope the new teacher doing the yelling today doesn't start a trend.

2) A little later in the day, I saw a teacher tell a student to stop running in the hallway. At least that's what I think she said to him. I'm pretty sure that's also the first time I've seen that happen at my school.

In the U.S., teachers are constantly policing the hallways and yelling at students for running and other such "infractions." But not here in Japan, at least not at my school. Why? Well, for the most part, the students don't run. And if the students are running, they're usually not running out of control. So the teachers usually let the kids be kids, if you will.

Guess who told the kid to stop running: Yes. A new (to my school) teacher.

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Lunch at my school is over at 1:00 p.m. The students are basically free to do whatever they want from after lunch until 1:35 p.m.

I usually hang out in the teachers' office after lunch. But last week I realized for the first time that right after lunch many kids go the the gym or the gym area to play soccer, badminton, volleyball, and basketball, for example. So lately I've started to go to the gym to shoot some hoops.

Today, I'd say there were about 20 kids in the gym while I was in there. There were no adults present, besides me. Even had I not been there, the kids would have been free to do whatever they wanted. Isn't that fantastic!?

See, over here, the kids are rather responsible, even at an early age. So they go to the gym, grab whatever equipment they need, and put everything away when they're done. And I'd be willing to bet that if they broke something, they'd tell the appropriate person. Too bad that's not how things work in the States.

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Tonight I have a "baseball" game. (If you're not sure why I write the word "baseball" in quotes, read this.) It's game two of the season. We play the Pirates. Last Monday we lost the first game of the short season 4-3. We played against "yakuba," the town hall team. That game was extremely disappointing and frustrating for me. Why? Well, I made two errors and feel responsible for three of the opponent's four runs.

I expected to be playing in the outfield, but shortly before the game started, when I asked the coach what position I was playing, he said, "Sado" (third base). No problemo, I thought.

We scored a run in the top of the first to take a 1-0 lead. We didn't hold the lead for very long, however.

The first batter in the bottom half of the inning bunted, and in my attempt to get the speed burner, I rushed my throw and overthrew first base.

Two outs later, with their leadoff batter then on third and us still ahead by a run, the clean-up batter hit a shot to my left. I reached down for the ball and got a glove on it, but the ball popped out of my mitt. I still don't understand why that happened, but I obviously must have not been "concentrated" enough. (Sorry, that's a bit of an inside joke.) 1-1.

The next batter hit a two-run inside-the-park (or, as the Japanese say, "running") homer. 3-1. Ugh! That's just baseball being cruel, I suppose.

We gave up a run later in the game and came up in the last inning trailing 4-1. We managed to score two more runs, but we left the tying run on second.

I was in the on-deck circle when the game ended. So I didn't get another chance to redeem myself. That's just how it goes sometimes.

Yeah, so as you can imagine, I'm pretty fired up for tonight's game.

New Pictures Posted

I finally got around to adding some pictures of desks here. Please check them out!

It wasn't the "Hungry Menu," but you could have fooled me.

Today's lunch was really bad, at least as far as my palate is concerned. Just take a look at this picture on the right, and you should know what I'm talking about.

Usually, there are three food items on my tray, plus perhaps a cup of tea. So as far as that goes, there's nothing very unusual about the meal pictured here. But check it out: I have a bowl of rice on my tray! What does that mean? That means I knew that if I didn't eat rice, I'd go hungry.

Why? Well, take a look at the next picture, and you'll see why. That's a bowl of "hijiki," a black vegetable that looks a bit like wild rice but is more like seaweed, "konnyaku," a terribly bland, oddly textured gelatin that looks as unappealing as it tastes, and beans. I actually like hijiki, at least to some degree, but konnyaku isn't worth eating, despite its health benefits, and beans give me gas. So I passed on that dish.

So my lunch consisted of rice, which I almost never eat, egg rolls, and soup. Yummy!

I'm not even sure which of the dishes was supposed to be the main course. See, the main course is usually the second item that the food servers place on the counters where we grab our food. But that salad concoction was second. Which means the egg rolls must have been thought of as an appetizer. Which they are. But how can that salad be the main dish? That just doesn't add up, does it?

Well, at least we are free to get "okawari" (seconds), assuming there are any and as long as they last. I wasn't interested in having any more soup, but I was dying for another egg roll or two.

But when I went up for seconds, I was told to come back in a little while. (Well, actually, for those of you who are interested in learning a little Japanese, what the lady really said was, "Cho(tto) matte kudasai," which means, "Wait a second, please." Besides words like "atsui" and "samui," which I've already introduced you to, "cho matte kudasai" is definitely on the Top Ten List Of Words And Phrases That You Can't Help But Learn In Your First Few Days Or Weeks In Japan.)

So what do you think I grabbed? That's right! More rice! Oh, joy!

A few minutes later, I noticed a crowd slowly forming near where the food is given out. So I scurried back up there, hoping to score a couple more egg rolls. I didn't get two, as I had hoped, but at least I did get one. And I even grabbed more rice. (Yes, I was that desperate!)

And then one of the kids I was sitting with made my day. How? Well, he whipped out a small packet of rice flavoring that he had left over from breakfast and gave it to me! So my bland rice instantly became rather tasty. It wasn't quite dessert, but it was the next best thing. I owe you one, dude!

This isn't exactly topical, but...

I mentioned a while back how important New Year's is to the Japanese. Well, one neat tradition that I meant to write about but haven't written about until now is the sending of "nengajo," or New Year's postcards. (I know that "nen" means "year" but I haven't bothered to ask what "gajo" refers to.)

I guess you could say nengajo are the Japanese equivalent of Christmas cards. Except sending nengajo is far more a part of Japanese culture than sending Christmas cards is a part of American culture, for instance.

You can buy nengajo in many places, such as department stores, convenience stores, home improvement stores, and the post office, starting sometime in November, from what I remember.

Most nengajo, especially those that you buy at the post office, are of the "pre-paid" variety. That is, there is an image of a stamp already on the card. Those cost about 80-100 yen each (50 yen for the stamp and 30-50 yen for the card). You can also find plenty of postcards without the stamp, but most people obviously prefer the "pre-paid" type, since they save you a trip to the post office (or at least a wait in line for stamps).

Lots of companies also give people the option of personalizing their postcards, usually with family pictures. Those tend to be higher quality cards, so I imagine they must cost at least another 20 or 30 yen each. Considering that it's not unusual for families to mail about 100 or more cards, sending nengajo can be an expensive tradition.

In any case, for weeks and weeks, the post office collects all of the cards that people mail and then delivers (or at least tries to deliver) all of them on New Year's Day! How wacky is that? From what I understand, the post office hires thousands of college students to help deliver the mountains of cards.

I probably received about as many cards as I mailed (12 or so), but I didn't mail a card to everyone who mailed one to me, and I didn't receive a card from everyone to whom I mailed one. As far as I'm concerned, that's fine. But some Japanese apparently feel the need to even things out.

So days and even weeks(!) after New Year's, you'll find people frantically writing postcards, trying to make sure that everyone who sent them a card also gets one in return.

One guy I talked to told me a funny story about the reciprocity deal:

He decided this was the year to cross one of his "friends" off his nengajo list, since they hadn't seen or talked to each other in years. So he didn't send him a card. But sure enough, he got one from the guy. So he decided he had no choice but to write back. In the end, I guess he just didn't have the heart to leave the guy hanging, even though that is what he would have preferred to do.

Another cool thing about the postcards is that most of them have a six-digit number on the bottom right, along with a series number on the bottom left. The six-digit number is a lottery number. To win a "big" prize, such as a TV, an oven, or an iPod, you have to match the entire number on your postcard with the winning number(s).

But there are also "lesser" prizes, such as pasta sauce, chestnuts, or canned soup. To win those, you have to match the last four digits.

And to win (the) "el cheapo" prize, which this year was a set of two stamps totaling 130 yen, all you have to do is match the last two digits. Guess what I won?

Heck, I'm just glad I won something! I guess no one I sent a card to won anything "big," because I imagine I would have heard about it. Too bad the bigger prizes aren't money. That way, you could make a deal with everyone you send a card to: "If you win, I get half." But how do you share a TV?

Welcome Freshmen!

As you might know by now, the Japanese love ceremonies. Today, we are having yet another ceremony at school, again in the gymnasium. This time, we are welcoming the new students to school. The ceremony will last about two hours and is a rather formal occasion. Formal dress for the Japanese, at least in this case, means wearing black. The female teachers and faculty members traditionally wear black suits and the male staff members traditionally wear black suits with white shirts and white ties (just as Ichiro did when he accepted the All-Star Game's MVP Award last year).

A couple of weeks ago, I bought just such a white tie so I could fit in with the crowd on occasions such as today's. But I guess I didn't realize that today's ceremony was so formal. After all, we had a ceremony just two days ago to welcome the new teachers, and that was only semi-formal. So for whatever reason, I just assumed today's ceremony would also be semi-formal. But it turns out today's ceremony is probably even a bigger deal than the graduation ceremony we held just a few weeks ago. In any case, once again, I didn't get the memo.

So I'll be wearing a colorful shirt and my trusty ol' red tie, and I'll probably be sticking out like a sore thumb. Or will I be?

See, you have to understand something. If I wanted to wear a white shirt and a white tie, I would be doing so. I have my white tie in my locker here at school, so all that is missing is my white shirt. But I decided to leave that at home. After all, one of the reasons I'm here in Japan is to show the Japanese that there are different cultures out there. So I guess it's better if I do things my way. At least sometimes.

(Several days have passed since the ceremony.)

The welcome ceremony was very similar to graduation, minus the crying. For instance, just as at graduation, a representative of the students who were being honored addressed the rest of the student body, and a representative of the student body addressed the students who were being honored. And a representative of the parents addressed the teachers and other faculty members. And there were several other speeches, all of which were in reverse, if you will. (Instead of being about the end of a long road, the speeches focused on new beginnings.) And there was a lot of standing. And bowing. And sitting. And there were VIPs (all 19 of whom happened to be male this time).

The best part of the event was that it only lasted for about one hour, not two. Thank goodness!

When the ceremony was over, the green carpets covering the floor had to be rolled up and put away, along with the chairs. The advantage of having the carpets is that you can sit on a chair during long ceremonies. The disadvantage of having the carpets is that they have to be rolled up methodically, a process which is rather tedious. Whenever we have shorter ceremonies, we end up standing throughout or sitting on the gym floor, neither of which is very fun. So pick your poison. It's too bad we don't have an auditorium.

After all the carpets were rolled up and put away and all the chairs were stowed, group pictures were taken. I'm not technically assigned to any particular grade, so I joined the third-graders for their picture. And, of course, I also joined the teachers for the staff photo.

Besides with the ceremony, the new first-graders were welcomed in another nice way: Their classroom was decorated by their fellow students. (Over here in Japan, just like in Germany and Austria and probably most countries besides the U.S., the students have their own classroom, even at the junior-high school and high-school levels.) I even had a chance to help, making some red and white flowers out of crepe paper. I was very impressed with the effort that went into making the new students feel at home!

Finally, to finish off the welcome, a stack of new books was placed on each student's desk. I imagine the new students must have been really excited to walk into their classroom for the first time. Welcome to Gokase!

There's No "I" in "Teacher"

As I "feared" would happen, my supervisor indeed got moved to the main (downstairs) teacher's room. But he's still a bit lucky, for two reasons: 1) His desk is in the last row in back, so he can sort of "hide" if he wants to. And 2) His neighbor to the right is one of those teachers who has an office elsewhere in the school and therefore doesn't really use her assigned (extra) desk. So my supervisor can use her desk for additional space, which, believe me, he desperately needs.

As far as I know, the only reason that my supervisor had to move downstairs is that he switched (i.e., was switched) from one committee to another. Since all the members of his new committee have their desks in the back of the teacher's room, so does he (now). Even though his committee probably meets a maximum of once per week, and even though he probably could do his committee work from his (old) desk upstairs, he still had to move to his new location. That's the Japanese way. Simple as that.

Naturally, my supervisor wasn't the only teacher to change desks. Many other teachers were also forced to switch from one committee to another. So a few days ago, while the students were still on vacation, a lot of the teachers played the Japanese version of teacher's musical chairs and either moved their belongings from desk A to desk B or simply grabbed their beloved desks and moved them to their new locales.

A couple of teachers even moved just one desk to the left. If you ask me, that's going too far, but I was told that those moves had to do with "Japanese tradition." See, one of the teachers who was transferred was in charge in some way or other of the sixth graders (the seniors). His desk was upstairs in the far back of the room. The guy who replaced him in that leadership capacity sat just to the guy's right. But, apparently, Japanese tradition calls for that "leader" to sit at that particular "leader's" desk in the back of the room. So instead of keeping his desk and someone else getting the vacant desk, the new leader scooted over one position.

But that meant that the guy who sat to his right also had to move over one position to the left. Why? Well, the other guy is in charge of the fifth graders. And the sixth-grade chief told me that he often needs to discuss things with the fifth-grade leader. So it helps if their desks are right next to each other's. Sure. Got it. Whatever.

Oh, and check this out. My supervisor's old desk (the first one on the right in the picture to the right) has been taken over by yet another of those teachers who has an office elsewhere in the school. Which, yes(!), means that she really doesn't need the extra desk. Which means that my supervisor could have stayed upstairs.

And the other teacher who had a desk upstairs next to my supervisor's but never used it since he had an office in the science wing (meaning I was conveniently able to sit at his upstairs desk quite often and my supervisor took advantage of the extra space) was transferred to another school. His desk was taken over by a different (not new) science teacher. Meaning that that desk, too, still goes unused. (It's the one with the laptop on the green mat.)

So I think that my supervisor should move back to his old desk and only go downstairs when he has committee work or meetings. But I guess he's happy enough in his new location. At least right now.

I'm just very thankful that there's still room for me upstairs if I should ever want to go up there and work in peace. Heck, one of the other teachers who has his desk up there even half-jokingly asked me if I was going to move up there. So I know I'm welcome upstairs.

For now, though, I'm very happy to camp out in the back of the main teacher's room, at the desk that's to the right of my supervisor and far away from Ms. Sniffles. Besides, I work closely with my supervisor, so it makes sense that we sit next to each other. Right? And the new perspective will do me some good, right?

Oops! I almost got carried away there. I forgot that I'm part of the group. What works for me isn't important. Note to self: There's no "I" in "Teacher."

The Proof is in the Pudding

I added a video here showing what I mean about kids not being buckled up.

New Picture Posted

I added a picture of my "Bombs" jersey here.

New Picture Posted

I added a picture of the six hausumasutas here. The third guy from the left, Kawazoe-san, has been transferred.

Million Morning Musings

Yes, she's still wrapped in a blanket... And she's still shuffling her feet wherever she goes. And she's still sneezing... And she's still sniffling every five, no make that three, seconds... Oh, and it's almost always a double sniff. Just in case you're the one who is preparing the SNL skit about my life here in the teacher's office. I need to find my own workspace before I go nuts.

And, yes, the other "she" is still sucking wind through her teeth. I don't get it. Never will.

I'm thinking about making my own odd sound or sounds to see how people around me react. Perhaps I should groan. Or "meow meow." Or "oink oink." Or make a buzzing sound. Do you have a suggestion?

The cherry blossoms have started to bloom, just not in Gokase.

When do the heaters get put away? I mean, what's the official date for that to happen?

And when are the teachers going to start wearing short-sleeve shirts again? It's certainly too cold for that now, but the weather conditions never stopped anyone from doing anything crazy around here before.

Am I going to have to "do a self-introduction" again when the new first-graders get here, or will it suffice for me to introduce myself?

Remember the sewer/gutter cleaning I mentioned recently? Well, I just found out this morning that that fine event is taking place on Sunday, April 20. That sucks. My baseball coach and neighbor invited me to run in a cross-country race with him that day. But that was before he knew when we had to do the dirty work. Now he says he's not going to run. He told me that I can still run if I want, but he suggested that I also participate in the cleaning, since it's a very important local activity. So guess what I'll be doing on April 20? Ugh. The cleaning "runs" from about 8 a.m. until about 11 a.m. and will be followed by, what else? A party.

When I left my apartment this morning, the temperature was 4 degrees (Celsius) on the plus side. Which is cold. But the 4 degrees felt more like 10 degrees. I'm not sure how that works. I've heard of wind chill lowering the feel of the temperature, but what force raises the feel of the temperature? Sunlight?

Today is April 1. It's the first day of the new fiscal year. Over here, I think everyone knows that. I guess primarily because the new fiscal year also marks the start of the school year. A couple people asked me when the fiscal year starts in the U.S. I told them I think it's July 1, but that I wasn't sure.

It's also April Fool's Day. That means that in America, people will be telling lies today, followed by "April fool!" In Germany and Austria, people will do the same (though, at least in my experience, to a much lesser degree) and say "April April!" (pronounced in German, of course). Here? No chance. Maybe I should start a trend. Maybe I should go around and tell lies and then say "shigatsu shigatsu!" But that just doesn't sound right.

Just about everyone is back at "work" today. Today will be filled with meetings. The first one is going on right now and should be over in about 20 minutes. I guess not too many teachers have to attend that one. But the next meeting starts at 10. I think that one's for everyone. Maybe that even includes me.

You know how I told you a bit about how the teachers are forced to move from school to school (usually) against their will? Well, I didn't do a good enough job explaining all that is involved in that. Sooner or later, I'll try to add some more comments regarding the emotional part of that situation. But I think you can imagine for yourself how sad some of the teachers and their loved ones are to leave. Some of them seem almost traumatized, although I bet they get over that in a hurry.

In any case, there's more to the story. Today, from what I understand, some teachers will be switching desks. Yes, even a teacher's desk location isn't sacred! Obviously, I'm hoping some teachers will be moved away from me and closer to Siberia. But that probably won't happen. I'm also hoping that some people won't move.

For instance, I hope the "lunch lady" stays next to me. I haven't spread out my relatively few items over to her desk, but since she's never around, except for when we have meetings, I suppose I have the option of the additional space. And she's one less person who can bug me, right?

And I hope the situation in the upstairs teachers' room changes as little as is necessary (one teacher up there got transferred). Why? Well, the five teachers who are up there, including my supervisor, are really cool. Plus, there's the added benefit of the desk up there that is only sparingly used. Meaning I often get to use it. When I want to escape from downstairs. Or when I want a change of pace.

Think about it. Downstairs, where my desk is located, just about every other teacher sits, including the two vice-principals. (The principal has a separate office.) The lucky ones are the upstairs teachers, the science teachers, the PE teachers, the home economics teacher, the "shop" teacher, the music teacher, and the art and calligraphy teachers. Because they all have offices elsewhere in the school and therefore have more freedom and peace and quiet. In some ways, I like the idea of having a room for (almost) all of the teachers. But I also want (and need!) some space sometimes.

Anyway, it's 9:55. That first meeting is obviously over because the teachers' room is filling up, not only with people, but also with various noises. The next meeting starts in five. Gotta go.

April fool! I just checked with my supervisor and it turns out I can stay downstairs (the meeting is upstairs in the conference room). So I'm all alone. Turns out I do get that occasional peace and quiet I desire.

Since I barely understand Japanese, it kind of makes sense that I don't have to attend most meetings. Then again, I've heard that for the Japanese, attendance at group activities is just about as important as participation. And today is the day when the new teachers introduce themselves to the rest of the staff. So maybe I should have stayed up there. What would you have done?

This whole not being very good at the language thing is obviously problematic (to varying degrees) at times. One example: The other day, the post office tried to deliver a package to me. I wasn't home, so the mailman left a notice behind. Moto was kind enough to do me the favor of calling the post office up this morning and telling them that the best place to deliver the package is school, since I'm always here. On the phone, Moto pretended to be me, even though I'm sure he didn't have to. I guess the person on the other end didn't believe Moto, but Moto said, "I am a foreigner, but I happen to speak Japanese well." April fool!

Because I'm not teaching any classes this week, I've decided to come to school "late" all week, as in 8:30. While climbing the hill near school, I spotted three elderly ladies ahead of me, walking at a snail's pace. "Oh, yeah, it's those croquet/golf ladies," I thought. When they saw me, one of them, the one I talked to last time, said something like, "Oh, good." I wasn't quite sure why, or if indeed I had heard correctly, until she started reaching into her bag.

Right away, I knew that meant I was going to get a little treat. And sure enough, she pulled out a little (individually wrapped) cookie for me. Wasn't that sweet of her? I tell you, so many of the Japanese people I've met are so kind! I took our picture once again, but this time I snapped all four of us. And I guess in return for the cookie, I'll make each of them a print of the picture. But that means I'll probably get more goodies from them. And then I'll have to give them more goodies. And they'll give me more. And I'll give them more. And and and.

And that's all folks!